


A fit of Madness

by Mfpasta



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Character Death, I'm Bad At Tagging, Madness, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 20:46:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14679176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mfpasta/pseuds/Mfpasta
Summary: After the death of his wife, Elisa, Patrick doesn't know what to do. Pete has been helping, but this time he doesn't think he can save his friend.





	A fit of Madness

**Author's Note:**

> This was not written by me, my friend wrote it. She asked me to upload it, because it doesn't have an account. Enjoy my friend very dark story.

It had been an accident. He was sure of it. No one could do that on purpose, could they?  
Unless it hadn’t been.  
He couldn’t remember. He had been so off the walls, he couldn’t remember a thing.  
And since the drinking, things had admittedly gotten worse, as had the psychotic episodes.  
What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he be normal?  
He knew what to do. He had nothing left to lose.  
Elisa was gone. Declan? Nope. Antero was God knows where. How could one beer and one gram have been the fence of sane and not?  
Well, he had known that alcohol and cocaine were not the things to do separately to cope with what had happened, let alone together in the span of five minutes.  
And Pete. He knew that it was not a good idea whatsoever to leave him alone in the house with booze, nose candy, and his two young sons.  
Then again, Pete never knew he had either of those things. He only knew of the singular bottle of wine in the fridge, the one that belonged to Elisa before what had happened.  
Had she ever loved him? What if she didn’t and did what she did on purpose? Was her goal to die to get away from him? If so, she did a dang good job. Just the sight of her crumpled body was enough to tell him that her last breath was the one she whispered in his ear.  
“I love you.”  
Had she hired the cyclist to bump her? It was entirely possible, and she was capable enough to have the funds. In addition to that, there was a name he didn’t recognize in her pre-written will.  
Michael Barbin.  
He didn’t care who it was.  
He snapped back to reality quickly, too sad to think about it any more.  
It didn’t help that he was staring at the bodies of his sons.  
Pete had been gone five minutes.  
If that didn’t show how much Pete grounded him, he didn’t know what did.  
He dropped the pillow he didn’t know he had and analyzed the tangled sheets of the master bed. They sure had put up a fight, hadn’t they?  
Nothing left. At all.  
So why not?

Pete unlocked the front door. He had never heard this house so quiet! Antero and Declan were probably asleep. They had been exhausted when he’d left.  
“Hey, Patrick. I got the pizza. Where are the boys?”  
Pete was met with silence. He’d expected as much. Maybe Trick had passed out after a glass of wine. Two young kids were exhausting. Pete should know; he had three.  
He set the boxes down on the counter and fanned his burning hands before sighing and pulling out a few plates from the cabinet.  
Thud.  
What the heck?  
Pete was scared that Antero had fallen off the bed again. Patrick usually let them sleep in the master with him. It was probably a side effect of the accident. Patrick could handle a lot, but he had always had Elisa, and now he didn’t.  
Pete trodded up the stairs. “Patrick? Everything alright?”  
He knew it wasn’t. He knew something was wrong.  
Pete slowly creaked the bedroom door ajar, seeing Declan and Antero safe and sound in the master bed. The sheets were tangled, though, which was a bit odd. Patrick usually always left the blanket neatly on top of them.  
What was that thud, then?  
He treaded lightly on the wood floor and checked all the rooms. Nothing was out of the ordinary, other than that weird sound.  
The bathroom light was on and the door was shut. Pete figured Patrick had had to use it. Alcohol did make your bladder seem entirely too small.  
He rapped softly on the door.  
“Patrick? You okay, man?”  
No answer.  
Now something was definitely wrong, and the door handle was locked.  
Pete groaned in frustration. He knew Elisa had always kept the door key on top of the frame. It was to check on Declan and Antero, and Pete had always thought it was a good idea, but it had never had to be used until now.  
Pete had to stand on his tiptoes to reach, but he eventually got the key and clicked it in the lock. He opened the door, attention still focused on the key, which was stuck in the door.  
“Trick, I thought you were in bed with—”  
What he saw made him stop dead in his tracks.  
Patrick, the one who Pete cared for, was laying on the ground, blood trickling from the back of his head. Blood was on the corner of the vanity and an empty bottle of Benzodiazepine pills were knocked over.  
Patrick’s eyes, however, were the thing that caught Pete’s attention.  
They were slightly glossy, flicking back and forth in time with the tiny movements of shallow breath.  
Patrick was struggling to form words. His mouth was opening and closing sluggishly.  
All Pete could do was kneel down. Pete knew that Patrick had minutes left, but he at least had to try.  
As Pete grabbed Patrick’s hand, he tugged his cell phone out of his back pocket and shakily dialed 911.  
“This is 911. What is your emergency?”  
“I—he—oh, Patrick—stay, don’t go, please…”  
“Hello?”  
“It’s Patrick. He’s barely breathing and not talking to me.”  
“Where are you?”  
“I—his house. ‘Trick, don’t leave, please, no—”  
“Can you tell me where you are?”  
“Mulholland Highway, near Lake Hollywood Park. Please hurry.”  
“Sir, there are medical personnel on the way. Please stay on the line and remain calm.”  
Pete clicked the speaker button and put the phone on the bathtub rim so he could hold both of Patrick’s hands. His voice was raw from tears, but he spoke in between sobs anyway.  
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I should have been there. Patrick, don’t leave, please, you’re my best friend. I can’t live without you. You’ve gotten me through so much and I need to be able to repay that. I can’t lose you. No matter what. Please, just stay focused on me. I need you. They’re on the way, please don’t leave…”  
A soft moan escaped Patrick’s lips.  
“Pete.”  
His head slumped and his body went limp.  
Pete never heard the footsteps of the EMTs. He only felt the force of a man’s arms pulling him away from the too relaxed body of his best friend.  
“No! Let me go! Get away!”  
Pete pried his way out of the man’s grip, pocketed the pill bottle, and sprinted after the canvas stretcher. He barged his way into the ambulance and threw himself next to Patrick, whose dull blue eyes were wide open and staring at the ceiling.

“Son, I’m sorry, we did everything we could.”  
“It wasn’t enough.” This officer was starting to annoy him.  
“I’m sorry. I really am, but the more you can tell us, the less time it will take us to carry out the procedure. We found two other bodies at the scene. Do you know how he died? What’s that bulge in your pocket, son?”  
Pete grunted as he pulled the bottle out of his pocket. Staring at the label, Pete shed a few tears and looked at the man with the emptiest eyes the officer had ever seen.  
“Yeah. He overdosed on pills.”  
“Good. What kind of pills are those?”  
Pete sniffed.  
“He overdosed on Benzedrine.”


End file.
